Lossarnach Yule
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: A holiday tale of Gondor, wherein a dead Ranger's family is visited by three strangers who bring a change of fortune in their wake.
1. Chapter 1

I was trying to repair a tumbled-down place in the stone fence about the garden when Lathron found me. The holder of my father's note was a dark, blocky man as was common in these parts. He would have been an axe-man like many Lossarnach men, had he sullied his hands with anything war-like. But while he had the powerful demeanor common to some warriors, Lathron spent his time chasing gold.

"Boy!" he hailed me from the back of his fine cob. I took a moment to finish setting my stone before I answered him. Not for defiance's sake, but to collect myself and steel my resolve, for I knew what he had come for.

Dusting my cold, chapped hands, I straightened and endeavored to look as casual as I could.

"Yes, Master Lathron?"

"I've come for my money, boy."

"You're early, sir. 'Tis not due till after _Mettarë._"

His dark eyes narrowed. "I was in the neighborhood today. I don't know when I will be back this way."

"With all due respect, that's not my problem, sir. If you want your money, you'll come back after _Mettarë._"

Displeased, he lifted his reins. "See that you have it for me then, Idren, for if you do not, then by the contract your father signed, not only do I take the seven acres back, the farm becomes mine as well."

My stomach, pinched already with hunger, contracted into an even smaller knot. "I cannot believe that Father would have agreed to such a thing!"

Lathron smiled unpleasantly at the fear in my voice. He was very much a bully at heart. "Men of business do not loan money without collateral, boy. The contract was signed by your father and is filed in Lossarnach with Lord Forlong's secretary. Ride over and take a look if you do not believe me. And then sell your horse and walk home. For I will have my money."

He kicked his own horse into a trot and left me cold and despairing. Just when I had thought things could get no worse, they had.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The letter was kept in the little box Mother had used for her dowry when she was a bride, and it rested upon the mantle. I couldn't decide how I felt about that-there were days when I wished she would burn it, and days I wished I could read so I could take it out and look at it again. But none of us could read, and the only time we'd heard the words of the letter was when the Guardsman from Minas Tirith brought it to us to tell us my father was dead. He was an older man, who had probably been given this unpleasant duty because he was close to retirement, but he was also a compassionate man, well-suited to his task and had willingly read to us the Captain's words.

Which had described how Father had died and had also described in glowing terms the worth of his service both to the Captain and to Gondor. I imagined the Captain had to write rather a lot of those letters, if he did one for every man of his command who was killed, but the letter didn't sound like something done by rote. It sounded very sincere, which was one small comfort in what turned out to be several very bad months. We had no body to bury-Father had been laid to rest in an unmarked grave in Ithilien. And his death notice had come right at harvest time, so that we had to work through our grief. To make matters worse, the Steward had raised the taxes yet again to pay for the war, and the harvest was not good-we'd had too much rain in the early part of the year and too little in the latter.

The tax time came before we'd gotten the payment that Gondor paid to the widows and children of its soldiers. And Father had taken the loan out several years before to buy seven acres of really good land adjacent to our farm. It had been a risky decision and one he'd agonized over, but with Tuilinn's birth, he had become concerned about being able to feed us all. It was one of the reasons he had become a Ranger-the enlistment bonus to men who could shoot to a certain standard and were willing to take duty in Ithilien had been enough to pay the note for two years.

With so little crop to sell, in order to make both the payment of the higher tax and the loan payment, with no widow's stipend forthcoming Mother had had to sell almost all of our livestock; the hens, the two sheep, our good milk cow and the draft horse. Even so, the amount left over after the tax would not fully meet Lathron's demands, and that was if we held nothing back to feed ourselves until spring. Now we were looking at a grim holiday indeed. We had held back one chicken for our holiday supper, a scrawny hen past laying age, but she would not be much for my mother, my two sisters and myself. Needless to say, there would be none of the festive extras my father had usually found a way to provide.

"We still have each other," my mother told me that night when I had told her of my encounter with Lathron. It was three days before _Mettarë_, and she was baking, making loaves with the last of our flour. "We will manage somehow." As I watched in disbelief, she set three smaller, round loaves aside to rise. There were symbols scratched upon them, old symbols. Father had some of the Sea-men's blood in him, but Mother was another matter. Dark brown hair and dark brown eyes spoke of her old blood, and she held to the old ways in some things. Which was all well and good most of the time, but now…

"Surely you don't intend to waste the last of our flour in that old custom?" I asked incredulous. It was tradition to bake three loaves three days before _Mettarë, _which used to be called something else before the Sea-kings came. One for the Hunter, one for the Trickster and one for the Lord. You used the best you had to make them, and burned them with the new-returned fire. Admittedly, these were small loaves, but still…

"'Tis not a waste to give the old ones their due, Idren."

"We need it more!"

"When you are most in need is when you mustn't scant the powers." She seemed maddeningly unaware of the full extent of our problems.

"What will we do if we lose the farm, Mother? Where will we go? Lossarnach? Minas Tirith? We know nothing of cities. How will we feed ourselves without the land?"

"We are not afraid of hard work, Idren. I could find work in a large house-I am a decent spinner. Silivren is old enough to go out as a maid, and Tuilenn nearly old enough. And you could work in a stables-you are good with beasts. We would get by, I am sure of it. And there's still the widow's stipend."

"Which we haven't seen yet. And I'm beginning to think we won't. It's been months. I think there may have been some sort of mix-up in Minas Tirith, and we've slipped through the cracks. And we have no way of going there to tell them. If they even have the money. The Steward wouldn't have raised the taxes again if things were going well."

"We also have that nice heifer Lathron sold us, my son," Mother reminded me reassuringly. "She will calve any day, and we can always sell the calf if necessary. It should fetch a fine price-that bloodline is known for its milkers."

"The calf won't be ready to sell soon enough to help us, Mother, and it might not even be a cow-calf." I had discovered through the rumor mill after the purchase that the reason Lathron had given us such a good price on the valuable heifer was not generosity to a soldier's widow, but because she had been covered not by the milch bull, but by a neighbor's much larger animal. Young to have been bred in any event, I suspected the odds were good that she would die trying to birth the calf, which would probably be too large, and that we would lose both of them. Lathron probably suspected the same. But Mother did not know this, and I would not tell her. She had plenty else to be concerned about.

"You worry too much, Idren. Let me do that. You are but a lad still." Mother took me in her arms then, and gave me a hug. She had lost weight over the last few months, I could clearly feel her ribs. Tuilinn was a heavy eater and Mother would tend to scant herself at supper in favor of the girls. She would have done it for me as well had I permitted it, but I was the oldest and wise to her ways.

"I wish I were older or stronger, Mother. I feel so useless." Father had been a tall man, broad-shouldered and strong. I had ridden those shoulders as a lad, had watched him work the land with what seemed to me to be effortless grace. At fourteen, I was short and scrawny and despaired of coming into any sort of growth whatsoever. And I was short-sighted as well, to the point that Father had never been able to teach me to shoot, so I could not even hunt for the pot, though I had learned to set snares. Struggling to get the harvest in and do the things about the farm that needed doing, I felt an increasing sense of helplessness and despair.

"Idren, you are all the help to me you need to be!" Mother protested. "You can't work any harder than you already do, lad, and I feel badly that you have no time for your friends any more. We are having some bad times now, but I am sure that things will be better next year, even if we do lose the farm. You must have hope that it will be so."

I nodded, and said that I would, but in truth that was just to reassure her. Our problems were too serious for one lad to address. They needed a man.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

They arrived the very next day, two days before _Mettarë, _as dusk deepened into full dark. I was just finishing splitting some wood for the night and turned and saw them, three men in Ranger uniforms dismounting from their horses at our front door. For a moment, my heart leapt into my throat, for I thought that one of them might be my father returned. But the oldest, stockiest man of the three proved to be shorter than Father had been once he dismounted, and the other two were too young. Then I thought, still hopeful, that perhaps they had come to tell us that there had been a mistake, that Father had simply been wounded and was in the Houses of Healing. But the oldest man's first words put that fancy to flight as well.

"We seek Sedryn, the widow of Ranger Tarian, lad. Is this the right farm?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, trying to stifle my disappointment. "My mother is within, fixing supper. Who may I say is calling?"

"I am Lieutenant Mablung, and these are Rangers Lorend and Hethlin. We have brought something for your mother."

"The stipend, sir?" I asked hopefully. Lieutenant Mablung shot a quick look at his fellows.

"Not exactly."

"I will go fetch her, sir." But Mother, having heard the horses, was already at the door when I turned.

"What may I do for you, good Rangers?" she asked. "You are welcome to stay the night if you have need, and share our supper." My heart sank, for my snares had come up empty and the turnip stew was little enough to go around as it was. Lieutenant Mablung gave me a keen look, and seemed to discern my thought, for he smiled.

"Mistress, we would not put you to any trouble. We have our own supplies, but would be grateful for the opportunity to sleep in your barn tonight."

Mother shook her head. "I would not have it said that my husband's comrades-in-arms slept cold while upon our land. Idren, help them see to their animals. You will sleep under our roof tonight, good sirs. It will be somewhat cramped, but there is a fire. And we have fodder aplenty for your beasts."

The lieutenant bowed most politely. "We thank you and I am sure our beasts do as well, mistress."

"This way, sirs," I said, and led them towards the barn. They were conversing quietly behind me.

"This is the last of them, isn't it?" one of the younger men asked. He was of a height with the lieutenant, but not so stocky, and his hair was a lighter brown that was uncommon in Lossarnach. There was probably Rohan blood back of him somewhere. He had sharp, foxy features.

"Yes, Lorend, it is the last," the lieutenant sighed. "We'll start for Lossarnach tomorrow."

"Excellent! You've not done _Mettarë _until you've done it at my family's house, sir. Wise of you to see that I got on the _weregild _patrol, so that we could go there for the holiday."

"'Twasn't me, Lorend. The Captain assigns that patrol. It was simply our turn."

"Lucky for us then, hey Heth?"

The other Ranger, the youngest by his beardless face, nodded silently. He had the pitch black hair and chiseled features of the old Sea-lords, but his clothing was certainly no better than his fellows, so it did not look as if he were a nobleman's son out doing his duty for Gondor. And his horse was the ugliest of the three. In fact, it was one of the ugliest horses I'd ever seen, and foul-tempered as well. It did not escape me that he was holding the reins right at the bit to keep the animal's teeth from his flesh.

It was easy enough to find housing for their mounts in our almost empty barn. Bessie the heifer looked over the door of her stall to watch the men and horses curiously. Fox-faced Lorend glanced knowledgeably at her in return.

"Well! She's about due, isn't she?"

"Any day now, sir."

"A bit young for it, from the looks of things."

"Yes, sir." Not wanting to get into explanations about Bessie's condition, I busied myself with forking straw into the empty stalls, and hay into the mangers while the Rangers unsaddled and brushed their horses. Soon, all was ready, and the horses settled into their homes for the night. We were about to leave the barn when the youngest Ranger, Hethlin, touched my arm.

"Have you brothers or sisters, Idren?" he asked softly. "Younger ones, perhaps?"

"Yes, sir. Two sisters."

"Then keep them away from my horse. Arcag would as soon bite or kick you as look at you."

"I noticed he wasn't friendly. I'll warn them off. But if he's so foul-tempered, why do you ride him? Surely there are better horses to be had in the army."

Ranger Lorend answered before Ranger Hethlin could.

"Because that foul-tempered wretch is the one horse in Gondor we've found that will run up on a _Mûmak _close enough that you can shoot it in the eye. Horses are scared of them, and won't abide them. Even the Captain's Dol Amroth-bred war mare won't face them. But that hideous fellow doesn't turn a hair."

"Do you have to shoot the _Mûmaks _in the eye?" I asked, intrigued. I'd heard tales from Father when he was on leave of the giant war animals of the Haradrim. "Can't you shoot them anywhere else?"

"No," Ranger Hethlin said, managing to get a word in edgewise. "They have really thick hide everywhere else. Like armor, it is. Arrows bounce, or don't go in far enough to do any good. All they do is make it mad and then you've got a mad _Mûmak _charging through the forest trampling everything in its path. If you can't hit the eye, you may as well leave it alone. Safer that way."

I gestured our guests towards the house. "Have you ever hit one in the eye?" I asked, as we started to walk.

Hethlin was silent long enough that Lorend was able to leap in once more. "Yes. Heth's our _Mûmak_-slayer." I looked at the young man, who probably wasn't more than four years older than I was. The bow on his back was beautiful, all black and gold, and obviously the weapon of a master archer. I felt my inadequacies keenly once more, but I was also genuinely impressed.

"You must be very brave," I told Ranger Hethlin, and to my surprise saw the warrior's cheeks turn pink.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Silivren was twelve, and fancied herself a woman already, and Tuilinn was eight that winter. They were all a-flutter over our unexpected guests, as I discovered upon my return. A cloth had been laid upon the table, and some flowers Silivren had dried during the summer placed in a vase upon it as a centerpiece. Tuilinn was ringing the vase with some nuts as we entered, making her contribution to the decorations.

Mother was stooping over the hearth, seasoning the stew. She straightened and greeted the Rangers with a smile, spoon in hand.

"Welcome to our home, good Rangers. Are you sure that you will not sup with us?"

The lieutenant smiled in return. "No mistress, we will not partake of your food, for we gave you no warning of our arrival. We will sit at table with you, however." The soldiers were all carrying bedrolls and saddlebags, which they deposited at the side of the room. Then they pulled forth cloth wrapped packages which they unwrapped to reveal travel bread and dried meats. Mother had laid plates out for them, and they set their food upon them, watching as she dished out stew for our side of the table. When she had done, they moved to their seats and joined us in the Standing Silence.

We seated ourselves, and supper began. To my shame, I saw Tuilinn eye the Rangers' dried meat hungrily, and kicked her ankle under the table. The lieutenant's sharp eye did not miss this either, and he smiled.

"Would you like to eat as a Ranger does, lass?" he asked Tuilinn, and when she nodded eagerly, tore off pieces of both bread and meat for her. He then rose and went back to the saddlebags and drew forth more food, which he brought to the table and divided between the rest of us, despite Mother's protests.

"'Tis no trouble, mistress. We have plenty and can get more in Lossarnach. 'Tis understandable that the children would wish to know how their father fared with us." I thought that a clever way of saving our dignity, and apparently Mother did as well, for she ceased protesting and after insisting that the Rangers partake of our stew, even she set to work on the dry, chewy food with a will. The bread was quite good when used to sop up the gravy in the stew and the Rangers had a wineskin with them as well, which Lieutenant Mablung brought out and slopped into our cups; half measures for the girls so that theirs could be watered, though after a considering look at me he gave me a man's full measure. Unused to such things, and not desiring to appear tipsy before my father's fellow warriors, I sipped it slowly.

Warm and well-fed for once, we all became very jovial as dinner progressed. Lieutenant Mablung and Ranger Lorend told us some stories of our father we hadn't heard yet, just little things about his life among the Rangers, but they were precious to us. Ranger Hethlin hardly spoke at all, but his cheeks were flushed with the wine and he was smiling. We were actually able to contribute the dessert for the meal-some apples that had been stored in the cellar and hadn't even started to shrivel yet. When all had eaten their fill and settled back in their chairs, the girls got up to clear the table and wash the dishes. Mother looked at our guests curiously.

"Did you have some particular reason for seeking us out, Lieutenant Mablung?" she asked.

The oldest Ranger nodded. "Indeed we did, mistress. Captain Faramir has a care for his men, and tries to see that their families are cared for as well. Orcs never have much of value unless they've just plundered someone else, but sometimes we encounter Haradrim in Ithilien. And the Haradrim deck themselves in gold. Most of what we get from the bodies goes straight to Minas Tirith-the arms and armor as well, for they may be smelted for the metal if nothing else. But unknown to the Steward," and here he looked slightly uncomfortable, "the Captain keeps a share back. Only it's not for him. He uses it to make sure that those who are crippled in his service have the care they need, as do the families of the fallen. Calls it _weregild_, after something the Rohirrim do."

He took a sip from his cup. Both Lorend and Hethlin were watching him intently.

"When we've gathered enough plunder, the Captain sends out a small patrol with a list. The patrol doesn't come back until we've seen everyone on the list and made sure that they're all right. The Captain knows that the stipends have been slow in coming of late." He paused for a moment, then twitched his head at the fox-faced Ranger. "Lorend."

Whereupon Ranger Lorend rose, went to their saddlebags and rummaged through. He returned to the table with a small pouch made of rabbit-skin, the fur still upon it. The laces were of leather. It was a simple thing, obviously made by the Rangers themselves, and it made a chinking sound when it was set down.

Mother looked at it, started to stretch her hand out towards it, then drew it back. She lifted her chin.

"We won't accept charity, lieutenant."

Lieutenant Mablung nodded, unoffended. I suspected that this was not the first time he'd encountered this attitude.

"'Tis not charity, mistress, merely Rangers looking after other Rangers. This gold was bought with the blood of Rangers, and if we choose to use a portion of it to look after Rangers' blood, what of it? I knew Tarian well. He was a generous man and he would have done the same for the families of his comrades. Is that not so?"

Mother pondered that for a moment, then nodded. She took the pouch, upended it into her hand, and gasped. A small shower of gold, with some silver spilled forth and she sucked in a surprised breath. Setting it carefully upon the table, her fingers moved through it, counting.

"There is enough here to almost pay off Lathron's note," she exclaimed. At the lieutenant's look of polite inquiry, she explained. "Tarian bought some land before he left for the Rangers. It was next to ours, and we truly did not have enough to support ourselves. So it was a risk, but he felt it a necessary one. His pay was going towards the note. We had hoped that the widow's stipend would suffice to pay it in full, but we've not received it yet."

"Lathron, heh? I know of him," Ranger Lorend interjected. "'Tis said he'll squeeze a copper till it screams. A hard bargainer."

"Are you from these parts then, Ranger?" Mother asked.

The Ranger nodded. "Yes, Mistress. My father, Doron, is a merchant in Lossarnach. He's on the guild council there."

Mother's eyes lit up with sudden comprehension. "Oh! I know your mother, Emlin! She is the cheese-maker! Your cows are very fine ones. Bessy is from your bloodline." Her eyes narrowed. "If I remember, one of her sons got into some trouble and Lord Forlong sent him off to the army. Said that it would grow him up a bit."

Lorend cast down his own eyes, discomfited. Ranger Hethlin gave his fellow ranger an intensely interested look.

"What sort of trouble?" came his soft, husky voice.

"'Tis of no consequence, Heth," Lieutenant Mablung chided. "Lorend is hardly the only one in the company with secrets he does not want told." That shut Hethlin up quickly for some reason. "He is a Ranger now, and a valued one." Lorend looked up at his superior with an expression equal parts surprise and gratitude, then at my mother.

"Mistress Sedryn, are you wanting to use this money to pay Lathron off?" Mother nodded.

"This will easily make this year's payment and the next. It would almost pay the note off completely. I would like to pay him off completely, for you never know about the weather or what sort of year you will have, but I also need some supplies for the rest of the winter and seed in the spring. This will not stretch to cover all of that."

"Then let me go into Lossarnach tomorrow and do your bargaining for you. No offense to you, but it will go better if I do it. I come from a family of merchants and cut my teeth on dealing from the time I was in the cradle."

"He is very good at it," the lieutenant agreed. "Captain Faramir sends him to Tirith to do our bargaining for us. He'll get you the most goods for your money, never fear."

Mother smiled almost shyly. "That is very kind of you, Ranger. I would be most obliged. But do you not have duties elsewhere?"

"We were going to stop at my parents for _Mettarë , _but they do not live so very far away. I can spend tomorrow taking care of your business and still have more than enough time to visit them the next day. You can tell me what you need, or send Idren along as your representative."

"And I thought that I might spend tomorrow doing a bit of repair work about here, if you would permit it, mistress," Lieutenant Mablung said quietly. "I noticed your roof needed patching."

"I'll hunt tomorrow, if you like," Ranger Hethlin offered. "I might be able to get a deer for you. I always liked venison for _Mettarë ."_

Mother's eyes got that glittery look they got when she was on the verge of tears. "Thank you all very much. My husband was fortunate in his comrades-in-arms." She blinked a few times, put the coins back into the pouch then rose from the table.

"Gentlemen, if you would like help us move the table, you can set your bedrolls by the hearth and sleep warm tonight."

This was swiftly done, though I noticed Silivren making cow eyes at Ranger Hethlin, who was the youngest and handsomest of the three. This seemed to discomfit him very much, as well as amuse our fellow Lossarnach man Lorend. Lieutenant Mablung also had the tiniest bit of a smile upon his face. I gave her a swift elbow in the ribs when Mother's back was turned, and as foreboding a frown as I could manage, but she simply tossed her head and went back to making a fool of herself.

The Rangers settled gratefully down as close to the hearth as they could manage, after Ranger Hethlin went out to bring more wood in.

"You had a good-sized pile out there," he said to my mother. "And we'll split some more for you before we go. But I'll bank the fire instead if you'd rather not waste it."

Mother shook her head. "By all means, keep it going if you like. We usually sleep upstairs, and we'll sleep warmer if you do."

He nodded (not being one for wasted words, I had noticed), and tended the fire with the expertise of one who did so continuously. Then he laid himself down beside his companions and wished us a shy good-night. Mother chivvied the girls upstairs and I followed, wondering what other interesting developments the morrow would bring us.


	2. Chapter 2

Hunters and farmers both make an early start of things, so I was unsurprised when I found Hethlin already in the barn the next morning when I came in to feed Bessie. He had just finished saddling his vicious horse by lantern light. The stallion, whom he had wisely close-tethered to one of the stall posts, was looking very displeased as a result. A hind hoof would lash out from time to time as an expression of that displeasure.

"Have you any rope or stout cording?" the Ranger asked. "Or perhaps some fairly long leather straps? If I have luck in the hunt, I will need some means to secure my kill."

I fetched him a coil of rope which he said would do nicely. Lashing it to his saddle, he promised not to cut it nor to soil it any more than was necessary. I told him not to worry upon that account, that we were grateful for his efforts on our behalf. He nodded.

"Where is the best hunting hereabouts?"

I gestured him to follow me to the barn door and indicated the foothills to the north, bulking darkly against a sky that was just beginning to show the faintest lightening.

"I'm no hunter myself, but they say there are deer aplenty up there. Boar too, by all accounts."

Hethlin shook his head. "Deer will have to do for us. I'll not be going for boar all alone, and with no spear." That seemed to me to be an eminently sensible decision. I looked at him, and was again struck by the contrast between his youth and his obvious competence. Before I could stop myself, the question slipped out.

"How many orcs have you killed?" The moment I said it, I regretted it for it made me seem shallow and stupid and young. But the Ranger did not take offense.

"I don't rightly know," he said softly. "You don't really think about that sort of thing when you're in battle. I imagine there are some I thought I killed that were only wounded and got away, and some I wounded that walked away and died afterwards. No way of telling, really." A reflective pause. "I will say I've never seen a man who keeps a tally turn out to be much of a soldier. It's not a game."

I nodded. "Are you from these parts? You speak like a mountain boy."

The young ranger smiled. "In a way. But from the other side of the mountains. Anorien."

Unknowingly, I put my foot in it again. "Does your family farm there?" Hethlin turned away, intent upon finishing his saddling.

"My family is dead," came the curt answer. "Orcs raided our farm while I was out hunting. The Rangers are my family now."

"I am sorry." I suddenly realized that there might be people worse off than myself and my family.

A shrug. "It happened a couple of years ago."

"Is that when you joined the Rangers?"

"Aye."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. The Captain wasn't really happy about it at first, because of my age and because I was the last of my house. But I think he thinks better of the idea now."

"I should think so, after you killed that Mû mak! Are you the youngest Ranger?"

Hethlin turned back to me, and I thought for a moment he was rounding upon me because he was weary of all the questions, but then I noticed the shy smile upon his face.

"Not any more."

He seemed very pleased with that development and I could hardly blame him. Unloosing his horse, he swung swiftly up into the saddle and booted the teeth questing for his leg with an unthinking reflex that spoke of long familiarity.

"I'll try to be back by dark, Idren."

"Good hunting, Ranger. And be careful." His smile became a grin.

"I expect I'll be safer out hunting than here with your sister!"

I could not but agree with that.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Ranger Lorend came out a bit later, still yawning. He had the rabbit-skin pouch tied at his belt.

"Hey there, Idren, about done with your chores? Want to come with me to Lossarnach? Your mother says you may if you wish."

I had not been off the farm in months. The idea of a jaunt to town was irresistible. "I would very much like to, sir, if you don't mind."

Lorend waved a hand airily. "I'd prefer the company. And I'll need your advice on what to buy." He patted his pouch. "Your mother gave me a list, and says that you have a wagon and a harness. Lieutenant Mablung says his horse is broken to drive. What do you say to us getting those two things together?"

That was easier said than done, for the harness was sized for a heavier horse rather than the courier mount, and required quite a bit of hole-punching and adjustment, particularly about the collar. And while the lieutenant's horse might have been harness-broken at some time in the distant past, he seemed to feel a return to such duty was a dreadful come-down from his current employment and jumped about quite a bit while we were hitching him to the wagon. But eventually, we were able to get into the wagon and drive a somewhat wobbly course to the front of the house. There we found Mother waiting with bread and cheese in a sack and a couple of black bottles of ale, which the Rangers had donated.

"'Tis not much, but mayhaps it will hold you if you get peckish. Take lunch in town, Idren and Ranger, if you like."

That was an appealing idea as well, though it seemed to me a waste of our scarce resources. Mother came around to my side of the wagon and handed me the sack. I leaned over so that she could kiss my cheek.

"We'll try to be back by nightfall, Mother. Don't worry."

"Worry? With one of Gondor's stout defenders with you? I think not." Lorend grinned.

"I'll take good care of him, Mistress, I promise. Not let him get drunk or fall into the hands of any loose women." I blushed, Mother actually laughed, and the Ranger clucked to the horse, who jerked forward, setting us upon our way.

The day dawned clear and cold, the sky pale, the hillsides where they were not covered with forest were grey-white with rimed grass. Once we had started, Ranger Lorend was silent for a while, keeping his attention upon the horse, till we had gone a way down the road and the gelding had resigned himself to his fate. Then he turned to me with an earnest look.

"Idren, your father was very good to me when I first joined the Rangers. I was lost and homesick and scared, and he took me under his wing, as it were, without being asked to. 'We Lossarnach men have to stick together,' he said. At that time, most of the Rangers were from families that were originally from Ithilien, you see, and we were the outsiders. He was a good man, the best of men, and I have it in mind to pay him back by helping you. To do that, though, I need information, and more than you might think is properly my business. I promise that I will do nothing with it other than try to help you. So if it please you, tell me what you know about Lathron and the land and Bessie, and how you've been getting on since your father went off to the war."

As the miles unfurled to Lossarnach and the day brightened and the sky changed to winter's pale blue, I did as he had bidden, and told him everything I knew about our circumstances over the last couple of years. Lorend asked a question here and there, particularly about the folks who had told of Bessie's plight, and his mouth tightened and eyes grew grimmer the more the tale went on. Looking upon this military man, with his sword at his side and bow at his back, I began to grow afraid of what my tale had done, afraid that he pondered some violence against Lathron. I told him so. His reaction was not what I expected. His expression lightened and he laughed.

"Oh, I plan violence against Lathron, never you fear, but not against his person. Against his purse, where it will hurt the worse!"

This was not all that reassuring. I reminded him that my family was not looking for charity, and he nodded.

"Of course you aren't, Idren! But you have the right not to be taken advantage of. Your father _died_ so that Lathron could live protected to do his sharp dealing! And he deals too sharply! There are rules to the Game, and he skirts the edge of them. A bad player. 'Tis time the rest of us reminded him of the rules."

Who the 'rest of us' might be, he did not tell, nor was there time to do so. Lossarnach was before us, slate roofs spread across the rolling hills with old Lord Forlong's keep at the summit of the highest. My companion drew rein for a moment, eyeing the town like a general contemplating a battle plan. His attention, I noticed, was already fixed upon the marketplace. Then he clucked the horse forward.

After six years, Ranger Lorend was coming home to Lossarnach. And though I did not know it yet, my family's lives would never be the same again.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

To this day, I am not entirely certain how he did it. I look back, and I can't remember the exact sequence of dealing and bargaining, though I've tried to reconstruct it in my mind more than once. All that I know is that we left our wagon at an inn called the Bull and Rooster and started making our way through the marketplace on foot. There was a good crowd out upon this day before the holiday, a wide selection of goods available and the business was brisk. The Ranger did not purchase anything on the initial circuit, but his sharp eyes made note of everything offered there, and he paused often to speak to merchants and passersby, personable and friendly, a valiant military man home on leave. He also flirted shamelessly with the ladies in the market, both customers and merchants.

'Twas on the second circuit that he began to work his magic. The bargaining began, and even my inexperienced self could see that he was skilled and flexible in his execution. He would haggle fiercely or deferentially or humorously depending upon his opponent, buy an item from one seller only to sell it immediately across the marketplace, and brazenly play one merchant against the other. When I would express doubt about one of his deals (for he bought several items that were not on Mother's list and that we had no use for), he would grin.

"Idren, you're just going to have to trust me. Don't try to teach the fox how to steal hens."

Just as the pale winter sun reached its zenith, he concluded his last transaction with a clasp of hands and a slap of the merchant's back. Somewhat spent from fetching goods back and forth all morning, I leaned against the wagon and looked into it, bemused. There was everything on mother's list, and one or two extras he had suggested that we needed.

"How much did all this cost?" I asked him once the merchant had gone. His eyes were twinkling.

"Fifteen silver." My jaw dropped, for the sum was barely half of what I had expected. We could make a couple of years payment on the note, and still have a something to tide us over until the spring crops started coming in. Lorend laughed at my surprise.

"I did tell you that I was good at this."

"A sharp dealer indeed as becomes a Lossarnach man," came a voice behind us. We turned to find a man of middle age confronting us, broad and stout and strong, flanked by two taller, younger men. "How much did you end up giving for the wagon-load?"

To my amazement and affront, Lorend promptly repeated the sum he'd told me.

"And the trades?" the stout man asked. He had hair of darkest brown, silvering in places, and brown eyes. The Ranger immediately began recounting the dickering he'd done to pull off this marvel. The three men listened intently, nodding in places, and as they did so, I noticed something. The two younger men had something of the same foxy look as did the Ranger though their hair was darker, and all three of them bore an odd similarity to the older gentleman as well, though he was a much heavier man. There was something about the set of the eyes and mouths that they all held in common, and it made me suspect something that was confirmed as soon as Lorend finished his tale.

"You seem to have kept your hand in," the stout man stated, with the air of someone making a great concession. "I may just own that you're my son."

Lorend grinned, a sharply white showing of teeth. "I'll have you know, sir, I do all the dickering for Captain Faramir. I mix it up with those hard bargainers in Tirith all the time."

"Almost I feel sorry for them." The older man's shrewd brown eyes turned upon me of a sudden. "And who is this lad?"

Remembering my manners, I bowed. "Idren son of Tarian, sir."

Remembering his, Ranger Lorend made introductions. "My father Guildmaster Doron, Idren, and my brothers Mardan and Feredir." Doron and his sons nodded courteously.

"My sorrow for your loss, young Idren," the merchant said. "I had heard that your father had fallen."

Lorend seized the moment as was his habit, putting my interests ahead of his reunion with his family. "And therein lies a tale, Father. Where is Mother?"

"Inside, waiting upon us for lunch. She had some business to conduct with the weaver. Feredir's been minding the shop and watching you dicker all morning."

"I need your counsel, sir. And hers too. Idren's family has fallen upon hard times since his father passed, and I would like to help them. I owe Tarian much, you'll remember I mentioned him in my letters?"

"I do. And as he succored my son, the least I can do is feed his. Come, the two of you, let's go get some lunch. Your mother will be more than glad to see you, boy."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Mistress Emlin was taller and thinner than her husband, and her hair was the same light brown as Ranger Lorend's, whom she immediately embraced and kissed upon his arrival.

"Lorend, my dear! What an unexpected surprise! However did you get leave to come home for the holidays?" Suddenly, her jubilant manner changed, and her eyes narrowed. "You did _get_ leave for the holidays, didn't you?"

"Actually, I didn't," Lorend declared, then after enjoying his family's horrified expressions for a moment, added, "Lieutenant Mablung and I and another Ranger are on an errand for Captain Faramir. You may thank him for my presence, for he knew it would bring me in this direction."

"And what sort of errand is it that brings you so far from Ithilien?" his father asked.

"Seeing that his disabled Rangers and their families, and the families of the fallen are taken care of." And he explained about the _weregild._ Doron was impressed.

"You've got a good captain there."

"Captain Faramir's the best," Lorend agreed fervently. "Though Lord Boromir's a good sort as well."

"You've met the _Captain-General_?" Emlin asked. "My, but you move in high circles these days!"

Her son shrugged. "How would I not? He comes to visit his brother every now and again, and there aren't so many Rangers that I wouldn't come in off patrol while he was there. Lieutenant Mablung knows him better than I do-they gamble together sometimes when they're both in Tirith."

The cheese-maker shook her head. "It is still astonishing to me." Then her expression altered, sharpening a bit. "Did you not say your business included Lathron, my son?" Lorend nodded, and she continued. "Would it interest you to know that we were to meet him this afternoon to discuss a business matter? It seems he's trying to get a contract to supply beef to the army, and wanted to make an offer for my surplus bullocks."

The Ranger's eyebrow lifted. "_Really_? That could be very useful."

"_Useful_? In what way?" His father's manner was curt, no-nonsense and rather intimidating. I wondered if that hadn't come from years of having to deal with his irrepressible son. "I think you had better explain what you're about, boy, and what it is that you intend to do."

"I'm not entirely sure what I intend, yet, sir," came the respectful reply. "I thought I would consult with all of you, should our paths cross." Lorend then began a low-voiced explanation of my family's circumstances after looking to me for permission. His father interrupted him almost as soon as he had started.

"For the family's sake, this is not something to be discussed in public." He summoned the innkeeper and ordered lunch and the use of his private parlor. The innkeeper protested, saying Lord Forlong himself was coming in later in the afternoon and he didn't want to have to clean the chamber again, but was overruled by Master Doron, who apparently could be as truculent and stubborn as a bull when the mood hit him. We then moved into the pleasant parlor, seated ourselves at the table and the entire family listened intently to the tale of my family's misfortunes. It was really rather humiliating to have our business dissected in such a matter, and I had little to contribute, other than answering the odd question addressed to me. When he was done, Mistress Emlin looked earnestly across the table at me.

"Young Master Idren, I assure you that what has been spoken of here will go no further. My son has been prone to flights of fancy in the past, and we wanted to make sure that he was not indulging himself in one now."

"Which he is not," Doron declared. "Idren, Lathron charged your father a steep price for that land, despite its quality, undoubtedly because of its proximity to your own. And the business with the heifer is definitely shady dealing-though I lay part of the blame for that upon yourselves. You know the old adage about something seeming to be too good to be true."

I nodded, and he smiled grimly.

"Nonetheless, this sort of business does not become him. And we will not have him taking the farm and livelihood of a family whose father fell defending him. Now what exactly would help you the most, do you think?"

"To have the note paid off," I replied immediately. "So we wouldn't be in danger of losing the farm."

"And how do you propose to work the farm without a draft animal?" Doron asked me gently. "A heavy horse or mule or ox?"

"We'll get by somehow, sir," I said with more confidence than I felt. We could feed ourselves well enough, if we tilled as much land as we could by hand, but there was little chance of raising extra we could sell to buy a draft animal, for we'd need the animal to plow the land to raise those extra crops. It was a problem I had set aside in favor of dealing with the most pressing one first. "Perhaps if the stipend comes, we can buy a horse or mule with that."

"Perhaps." The guildsman's voice was noncommittal. "But perhaps it would be wisest if we plan as if the stipend does not come. For due to some confusion in Tirith it may not, or it may come, but too late to be of any use in your current troubles." There was a knock at the door then, the innkeeper and his staff bringing our lunch. And what a lunch it was! My mouth started watering as soon as the delectable smell of roasted chicken and beef reached me. I could not remember when I had last had such a meal. The plates were swiftly set upon the table, and everything was passed to me first, as the guest. I was encouraged to pile my plate high by Mistress Emlin, and I did so. She seemed to take a genuine pleasure in my appetite.

Her sons and Master Doron also did credit to the food. For the first part of it, there was little talk, then as appetites had been somewhat slaked, the talk began again. Much of it was totally incomprehensible to me, and I was too busy eating to contribute much in any event. It was an odd sort of conversation-a sentence would be started by one then finished by another as the first one took a bite. Lorend's family seemed to know each others minds most wonderfully well, and there was no doubt they were communicating quite clearly, though the names being named and the incomplete statements meant less than nothing to me.

"Lalaith is in it too?" "-Talk to the Weaver's Guild, see what they say…" "The Potters won't cooperate, most likely" "Put pressure on him, see how that works…" "Bring in his Lordship?" and other such fragments flew back and forth over my head as I ate. Finally, the guildsman's family began to push back from their chairs. Doron looked at his wife.

"When are you to meet with him, Emlin?"

"The second hour past noon."

"There is not much time then. Mardan, Feredir, be about what we discussed." Lorend's two brothers nodded to their father, and left the room. "Lorend, take Idren out to the market and don't come back till the second hour."

Lorend did as he was told, and before long we were back out in the marketplace. The weather had warmed somewhat, the sun was out, as bright as it could be in the paler blue sky of winter and things were even busier than they had been in the morning, as shoppers sought to complete their purchases before the market shut down for the holiday. The Ranger broke out his own purse and indulged in a bit more bargaining, as he bought _Mettarë _candles for my family, four fine beeswax ones. I thanked him but protested that I'd have bought tallow candles. Lorend laughed.

"'Tis a holiday, Idren! Allow yourself a little indulgence! Things are not so grim for you as they were yesterday, and they may become less so before the day is out."

"Do you know what is going to happen, Ranger Lorend? What your father and mother intend? I did not understand anything of what is going on."

"I have an idea, but I think there is some room for maneuvering as well." He did not trouble to impart to me what his idea was, and I sighed in frustration, but allowed him to drag me around the marketplace a while longer.

When we returned to the inn, it was to find that chaos had descended upon the common room, which was full of people for some reason, though the lunch hour had passed. The innkeeper and his girls were bustling about, passing out tankards and plates of cheese and bread and honey cakes. The Ranger's family were seated together at one of the tables along with Master Lathron, who was looking about at all the people with a frown upon his face. The frown became an outright scowl when he saw me enter with Lorend.

"What's the meaning of this, Doron?" he growled at the guildsman. The Ranger's father smiled. It was not entirely a pleasant expression.

"Why nothing, Lathron, save that my son brought a most distressing matter to my attention." He looked up at me. "Idren, do you have Master Lathron's payment for this year?" I nodded. "Then give it to him."

Slowly, I opened the rabbitskin pouch, leaned over and counted the requisite coins out onto the table. Lathron counted them again himself, then tucked them away into his own pouch. He looked almost disappointed as he muttered, "Very well then, young Idren. Three more years you have to pay, remember, before I'll tear up the contract."

"Actually, you are going to tear it up today," said Master Doron, and now he was frowning himself. "I know what you paid for that land originally, Lathron, and you've gotten your money back and a bit of profit as well. You've got no call to be squeezing a soldier's widow and children so."

"And you've no call to be interfering in my business, Doron!" snapped my creditor. "It was a legitimate contract, and this boy's father agreed willingly to the terms. If you think you can censure me in the Guild Council or some such nonsense, you just give it a try! I've as many on my side as you have on yours."

"Are you so sure of that, Lathron?" the guild master asked mildly. "But I see no need to bring the Council into this. I shall simply forbid Emlin to sell you her bullocks." Master Doron looked at his wife, who was giving him a raised eyebrow, and grinned almost boyishly. There was some quiet chuckling from Mardan and Feredir, as well as from some other folk in the room. I couldn't see what was particularly funny, unless it were that it was difficult to command Mistress Emlin in anything.

Lathron's face darkened. "She is hardly the only person in the area with bullocks."

"No, she is not," Master Doron admitted. "But she is one of the three largest cattle breeders in this area. And without her animals, you'll have to go to Rohan or elsewhere to make up the numbers the Army will demand."

"Lalaith Weaver's husband has near as many. I'll buy his."

"No, you shan't," said a stout dark-haired woman seated at another table. Master Lathron frowned at her.

"Mistress Weaver, the beeves are your husband's to sell as he pleases."

"That's as may be. But the bed he sleeps in every night was part of _my_ dowry. He'll sleep in the barn if he sells those bullocks to you." The stout, graying man at her side shrugged his shoulders with a wry grin, and a bout of laughter erupted in the room.

"Then I shall go to Baelor!" Lathron snarled.

"Master Baelor owes me a favor, for helping him when his cows were losing their calves," said Mistress Emlin, her pleasant blue eyes suddenly flinty. "I shall ask him to refrain from selling to you as well."

"'Tis not necessary to ask, mistress," came a voice from over by the bar, and heads swiveled in that direction. Baelor, one of the larger landowners in the area, and the third of the large cattle breeders, had apparently come in to do his holiday shopping. "I stand with you on this matter."

Master Lathron's expression became thunderous. "This is absurd! Why would you all refuse to do business with me? We all stand to profit from it!"

"Because," said Mistress Emlin firmly, "there are, believe it or not, Lathron, more important things than profit in the world." Murmurs of approval arose from our audience.

"Lathron, give over," said Master Doron quietly. "A man of business cannot stand alone and hope to profit. He needs his neighbors. And your neighbors require this of you."

Master Lathron shoved himself to his feet. "My neighbors have no right to ask me to forgive a lawful contract! Very well then, Rohan will profit where my neighbors will not, fools that they are! For I will not give the boy the deed."

"Then neither you nor Rohan will profit, Master Lathron. For you will not be getting a contract from the Army," Ranger Lorend said, speaking for the first time. His voice was mild, but he had his mother's eyes and flint was in them as well. "_Any_ contract."

"And how do you propose to stop that, you ne'er-do-well?" snarled Lathron. "You're naught but a Ranger. You have no standing with the quartermasters."

Lorend smiled pityingly. "_I_ don't have to stop it. You still don't understand, do you? My lieutenant is at Idren's house right now. We shared dinner with his family last night. Lieutenant Mablung knows the straits they are in, he's fixing their roof today. Now what do you suppose will happen if he goes back to Ithilien and tells Captain Faramir how you've been sharp-dealing with one of his soldiers and were all too willing to throw his widow and children out into the cold? How do you suppose that will look? If you are willing to take advantage of one soldier, what's to stop you from cheating the Army?"

Master Lathron looked taken aback for a moment. Then he rallied. "Captain Faramir does not have his father's ear, or so 'tis said."

"No, he doesn't," Lorend admitted. The admission did not seem to distress him unduly. "But his brother the _Captain-General_ does. And Captain Faramir has _Lord Boromir's_ ear. Did I mention that my lieutenant plays cards and dice with the Captain-General on a regular basis? By the time Captain Faramir and Lieutenant Mablung are done talking to him, Lord Boromir will see to it that the Army will never deal with you. Ever, Master Lathron. For anything. Whereas, if you do this one small good deed, we will do nothing to damage your standing with the Army, and all will benefit. "

The surety with which the Ranger spoke left no doubt in my mind that the threat was a genuine one, and the merchant recognized it as such as well. Much of the bluster left him of a sudden and he seemed almost to shrink in upon himself.

"'Tis a small sacrifice compared to what you stand to gain, Master Lathron," Lorend coaxed softly. "Think of it as seed money for your new venture."

Silence fell over the common room, as everyone in it seemed to hold their breath for a space of time. Finally, Lathron sighed.

"Very well, I'll do it. But we'll have to go up to the castle and see his Lordship's secretary. And it's late in the day, the day before _Mettarë . _I don't know that he'll be available." I could see the rebirth of calculation in his eyes, and my heart, ecstatic a moment before, fell once more. If the secretary could not be found, then all Lathron would have to do would be wait the Ranger out. Lorend and his companions would have to leave soon, and I could see little way they could enforce their threat from a distance. Master Doron and his neighbors could bring much more pressure to bear but Lathron could always claim circumstance as an excuse and delay and delay…Freedom from my family's creditor, seemingly at hand but a moment before, now seemed tantalizingly out of reach.

"Have no fear of that!" boomed a voice from the doorway, and half the people in the room jumped, startled. The door was filled by the bulk of Forlong the Fat, Lord of Lossarnach, who could apparently move very quietly despite his heroic stature. He had arrived for his afternoon appointment, and I wondered how long he had been listening. His very next statement proved he'd been listening for quite a while. "_I'm _available even if my secretary is not. I'll send a boy up to the castle now, and we'll have that deed down here in next to no time and see this done. I commend you for your generosity, Lathron-it suits the season. And in keeping with that thought-innkeeper, drinks all around on me!"


	3. Chapter 3

Lord Forlong was a huge person, both physically and in personality. He seated himself in the common room and it were as if a party had suddenly begun. Drinks were passed around, cheerful questions were boomed across the room to various people, and the air of tension and conflict that had existed when he entered simply fled, tucking its tail between its legs. Lathron nearly pitched face-first into the table when the Lord slapped his back in approval of his generosity, and looking into those twinkling dark eyes, I wondered if that hadn't been intentional.

"Ah, the scallawag-you're home for the holiday, are you? Army life straightened you right up, didn't it!" he said to Ranger Lorend, eyeing his Ranger uniform. "I thought that it might." Lorend, who was rarely daunted that I could see, bowed his head at this, and made no reply. "I hear good things about you now, young man."

That brought the young ranger's head back up in a hurry. "You do, sir?"

"Of course! Your captain is on the Council, after all. I asked Faramir about you." Lorend looked torn between pleasure at the praise and horror at being checked up on. But Lord Forlong had already moved on, and turned his attention to me.

"As for you, young Idren, I owe you an apology. Your father was always a law-abiding sort, and as such, had not come to my attention as this young rogue did. But I should have remembered there were two Rangers from Lossarnach. We will speak upon this after I have concluded my business here, if you can wait a bit."

"Of course, my lord," I responded, for truly, what other answer could I make? And it did not look as if I would have long to wait, for besides being a jovial sort, Lord Forlong was apparently efficient as well. His boy had gone scampering off to the keep, and before long, Lord Forlong's secretary was hastening into the inn, a portfolio of papers under his arm. He set the portfolio before his lord, produced an inkwell from a capacious pouch, pulled forth a quill, scrutinized it briefly, pulled a pen-knife from the same pouch, cut it, laid it at his lord's hand, and then drew forth wax, a seal and sand in less time than it takes me to tell of it.

"Here is the document you requested, my lord," he said, pulling a sheet of parchment forth. The Lord scanned it quickly, frowned for a moment, then his face cleared.

"Well, let's do this then. Lathron, your statement that the debt is paid and your signature, please."

Lathron shot me a sour look, but did not dare express more displeasure than that in his lord's presence. I watched as he scribed the words, his hand thick and blocky as the rest of him. He signed his name, then slid the document back over to Lord Forlong, who scanned it and nodded. He gestured to the secretary, who scribed a line in a far more elegant hand, and then slid it across the table to me.

"Now, young Idren, you put your mark right there," and the Lord's thick finger reached across to point to the appropriate place on the parchment.

I took up the pen, and made my mark. It was, I realized, the act of a man and not a boy, and I wished again that I could read, so that I could sign my name properly, though there were many in Lossarnach who could not and there was no shame attached to it. The secretary took the parchment back, and he and the lord signed as witnesses, then the secretary sanded it and Lord Forlong sealed it.

"There you go, lad," he said kindly, as the secretary gathered up his things. "I'll keep hold of that, and you can go home and tell your mother tonight that the debt is paid."

"Thank you, my lord," I said, and then, though it pained me to do so, "And to you as well, Master Lathron."

Lathron merely nodded. Lord Forlong looked to the innkeeper.

"Well, if we're finished here, you can bring our refreshments into the parlor, Borlan…Guildsmen, if you will accompany me, please. You too, Mistress Emlin, Mistress Weaver."

Several of the people in the common room stood and began to file into the parlor. Master Doron and Mistress Emlin did as well, after smiling at me and their son. Ranger Lorend looked down at me.

"You all right, Idren?"

I nodded. "It feels very strange, though. I have been worried for so long, that I don't seem to know how to do anything but worry."

"Well, something will turn up for you to worry about eventually, so it is hardly a wasted effort."

We waited there for a little over an hour, while the Lord met with the guildsmen. Ranger Lorend told me some more stories about the Rangers. I asked him about his companions.

"Lieutenant Mablung is a really good sort. He'd be a captain by now, if he weren't a Ranger."

"Why is that?"

"There aren't enough of us to justify more than one captain. Captain Faramir really wants him to advance, and asked him if he wanted to transfer to the regular army so he could get promoted, but Mablung won't leave Captain Faramir."

I thought that was very loyal of the lieutenant, and said so, then asked about Ranger Hethlin. Lorend grinned, as if at some private joke.

"Oh, Heth's all right. You couldn't ask for a better sort at your back in a battle. A really good shot, too. And he'll climb up rocks or trees or anything to get his shot, if need be-he's got no fear of heights at all. I spend more time with Heth than some of the others because we're both good riders, and Captain Faramir sends us out on courier duty a lot. Heth's not much of a talker, but he'll talk to the Captain and the Captain talks back. Captain Faramir doesn't do that for many. They talk about books, mostly-both of them like to read."

That the incredibly skilled Mumak-slayer could also read surprised me a bit-he had claimed to be a simple farm boy. But then, our three guests had all turned out to be talented in ways other than the killing of enemies. Lord Forlong's meeting lasted slightly over an hour, and Lorend and I chatted together until it was over.

His lordship swept out of the parlor and spied me. "Ah, there you are, Idren! Sorry to keep you waiting! Come with me, lad. I shan't keep him long, Ranger," he said to Lorend. The Ranger nodded, and turned to speak to his family. I followed in Lord Forlong's wake as he left the inn and started back up the hill to the castle. Despite the fact that he was an older man, and heavy, he moved briskly enough and seemed untroubled by the climb.

"How old are you now, lad?" he asked, gesturing for me to fall in beside him. I had to scurry a few steps to catch up.

"Fourteen, my lord."

"Old enough, then. The last day of every month, unless there's deep snow or ice, you're to report to the marketplace. That's when we drill the militia. Can you shoot?"

"No, my lord. My eyes aren't good enough."

"Hmmmm. Thought I saw you squinting. Don't worry about it-we don't have that many archers in any event."

I looked down at my puny form. "My lord, I don't think I'll ever make a soldier."

"I've seen some runty fellows grow up into fine, strapping lads and some of them were older than you when they did it, Idren. But this is not about making you a soldier. The Steward will call one day, and I'll have to take my soldiers to Minas Tirith. I'm trying to give the men left behind, oldsters and youngsters, a little idea of how to go on defending themselves if something happens while we're gone, or if we don't come back. It's not much, but I like to think it will help."

Once again, it was borne upon me that I was now the man of the house, and being treated as such. It was both a sobering and exciting thought.

Lord Forlong took me through the castle gate, but not into the keep. Instead, I found myself following him into the stables.

There, stalls were filled with Lossarnach's finest heavy horses. Bay and chestnut and roan heads poked curiously out of doors as we passed. Stablemen greeted their lord with deference. Lord Forlong paused before one stall. In it, a roan gelding stood, looking a bit despondent. He was stout and well-muscled.

"Have you a silver piece, lad?" Lord Forlong asked, and baffled, I opened the pouch and fished one out. He took it from my hand.

"This sad lad lost his team-mate, who was also his brother, a month ago. Poor fellow colicked and twisted a gut, and had to be put down. Speckle here's not been the same since. Not much work for him here, as odd man out-I use teams mostly. But he might suit you and be happier at your place as well. So I'm leasing him to you for a year. You do have the fodder to feed him, don't you?"

"Y-yes, my lord," I stammered in astonishment. "We got our hay in well enough. And if there's not enough, I can buy more." Then I thought about what my mother would expect me to do, and lifted my chin. "We won't take charity, my lord."

Lord Forlong's thick, black brows drew down. "Don't be pert, boy! 'Tis my duty to take care of my folk, and as I told you earlier, I have been remiss in my duty. 'Tis not charity to see that you the means to take care of yourselves, it's my duty as lord. And you're doing me a favor-my men haven't the time to fuss over this fellow right now, and he's lonely. If you want to lease him again next year, it will be another silver. And if you find the means between now and then, and would like to buy him or some other beast, then good for you! I'll give you a fair price for him. But my suggestion would be that you lease him for the next two or three years, get yourselves a little ahead. I'll have instructions left with my secretary, so he knows of our arrangement, in case I am not here next _Mettarë . _Now take down that halter there, and get acquainted."

I did as I had been commanded, taking the halter and stepping into the stall. The gelding stood quietly as I put it on him, and I spent a moment afterwards stroking his velvety nose and marveling at my good fortune.

Lord Forlong watched us with pleased approval. "Bring him in when you come in for militia training and leave him up here for the day. I'll have my farrier see to his feet." I stammered my thanks, and his lordship nodded. "I will see you in a month, Idren. And I'll be asking about the stipend the next time I'm in Tirith. If it comes before then, I'll see that it comes out to you." His secretary came hastening up to him at that moment, and whispered something in his ear. "I've got to be off now, lad-there's a courier waiting on me. A good holiday to you!"

"And to you, sir," I said softly. He departed, and one of the stablemen presented me with a lead-rope, so that I might take the gelding down to my wagon. Feeling stunned and oddly detached, I started back down to the marketplace. Fortunately, the gelding was a very docile creature and gave me no trouble at all. Ranger Lorend, who must have been watching from a window, came out of the inn as I approached.

"Well, he's an excellent fellow!" was his cheerful comment. I looked at him suspiciously.

"Did your father say something to his Lordship?"

"I expect he did. You must admit, you needed a horse or ox or something, or all that land wasn't going to do you much good." He took a good hard look at my face. "Why? Is this the charity thing again? Idren, it's not as if you were begging for handouts! In fact, your family might have been served better had you spoken up a little sooner! All anyone has done here is to give you the means to take care of yourselves. If you truly feel like you owe a debt to someone, then at some point help someone less fortunate than yourself and pass it on."

That actually seemed like good advice to me, so I said no more upon the matter, but led the gelding around to the wagon. Lorend helped me let the harness back out, which fit Speckle much better than it had the courier horse, who was only too pleased to be led along behind the wagon rather than pulling it. We then set off for home. I fear I was a poor companion on the road back, for I was mulling over the day's events in my mind and was little inclined to talk. The Ranger seemed to understand and did not press me to keep him company in conversation.

It was past dark by the time we got home. Mother and the girls came pouring out the door, then stopped in their tracks at the sight of Speckle. Lieutenant Mablung walked up from the direction of the barn, dusting his hands, and surveyed the horse curiously as well.

"Do I want to know, Lorend?" he asked. The younger Ranger beamed.

"You certainly do, sir, and these ladies do as well. Idren, will you do the honors?"

I got down from the wagon, and approached my mother. "Mother, Lathron took this year's payment, then signed off on the debt. We're free and clear of him-the paper is at Lord Forlong's castle. And his lordship leased us this horse for a year, and says we can keep leasing him if we like. And Ranger Lorend bought everything we needed for fifteen silver! So you see, we have some money left, and Lord Forlong says he'll check on the stipend for us!" And I handed her the pouch back.

She took it into her hand, weighing it for a moment, then to my horror, burst into tears. Lieutenant Mablung seemed to be expecting that, for he moved quietly to her elbow, produced a handkerchief from out of his belt pouch and offered it to her. My sisters looked upset for a moment, then fascination with the bounty before them proved irresistible, and they danced about the wagon, whooping with glee over the items within and making much fuss over Speckle, who did not seem to mind being petted and exclaimed over in the least.

In the middle of all this commotion, there came the sound of hooves approaching. We all looked up to find the shadow of a figure on foot leading what appeared to be a curiously misshapen horse bearing down upon us. When it reached the light pouring out from our doorway, it turned out to be Ranger Hethlin and the evil-tempered Arcag, returned from their hunt. There was a well-antlered buck slung across the saddle and a couple of rabbits hanging from the saddlebow. A couple of long poles were lashed to either side of Arcag's saddle and lashed with crosspieces behind the horse to make a sort of litter. Upon that litter, to our great amazement, was a young boar.

Lieutenant Mablung frowned. "Heth, what in the name of the Valar were you thinking of, to go for _boar_ with a _bow_?" He did not look at all pleased. I noticed there was an arrow snapped off in the boar's eye, and a huge wound in its skull.

"Didn't go for the boar, he went for me, right after I'd gotten the deer," the young Ranger protested mildly. "Shot him coming in, then Arcag finished the job." My mouth already watering at the thought of roast pork, I looked upon the surly horse with approval, and decided that I would get an apple from our cellar and deliver it to Hethlin to give to him.

Ranger Lorend looked at the carcasses and whistled. "Heth, did you leave _any_ meat up in those hills for anybody else?"

Hethlin grinned. "What can I say? The luck of the hunt was with me."

And the sight of all that meat, just waiting to be cooked or dealt with, dried my mother's tears like magic.

"Idren, put the horses away, then lay a fire in the fire pit out back and set up the spit. When you're done with that, get one started in the smokehouse as well. Girls, put a big cauldron of water on the fire inside, and after Idren gets the fire going out back, put the other one out there as well. We need to get the bristles off this boar. We'll stew the rabbits, spit half the boar and a haunch of the deer and smoke the rest. Goodness, what a _Mettarë _feast we shall have tomorrow! I doubt Lord Forlong himself will eat half so well! Thank you, Ranger Hethlin!"

The young Ranger smiled an acknowledgment, and held Arcag's head as Lieutenant Mablung and Lorend removed first the deer and rabbits and then the boar from his horse. Then they undid the poles from the saddle and used the litter to drag the boar around back. Lorend came back to help me with Speckle and the Lieutenant's horse while Hethlin saw to his heroic but vicious mount.

Once the animals were settled, we all set to the task of cooking and preserving the meat. A long night lay before us, but the Rangers volunteered to keep the night watches since they were used to it, provided they could sleep in the morning. This arrangement was cheerfully agreed to by everyone.

Over a scant and hasty supper of toasted cheese on bread, Mother asked for the particulars of what had happened in Lossarnach that day, "-for I cannot imagine Master Lathron suddenly becoming kind in his old age." Ranger Lorend told of our adventures in the town with considerable flair and with what I thought was very commendable modesty about his own part. I spoke a bit further upon what an excellent trader he had been, and his part in pressuring Master Lathron and was rewarded with a gratified look. Mablung and Hethlin seemed very impressed with their fellow Ranger's exploits. Then I went off to bed with a light heart, for the first time in months not worrying about the future.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The next day was a flurry of preparation. Cooking, cleaning and bathing all had to be done before dark fell, as well as keeping the fire in the smokehouse going. Lieutenant Mablung had taken the last watch, so he went upstairs and slept for several hours in the morning. Despite Ranger Lorend's coaxing, he and Ranger Hethlin had decided to stay and have _Mettarë _with us. Ranger Lorend was going to leave for his parents' house at noon, so he took the first bath in a tub we had set upon the back porch. Ranger Hethlin would take his turn only after we were all made to swear that no one would come outside while he was bathing.

"He's very shy," Lorend explained. "He's got some scars from a run-in with some orcs."

"Oh, the poor fellow!" Silivren exclaimed, intrigued and pitying all at once.

I personally thought that if I had scars from battle I wouldn't care who saw them, but there was no desire in me to offend the person who'd brought the meat for the feast, and resolved to make sure that my sisters kept away. I wouldn't have put it past Silivren to try to sneak a peek. But my efforts were unnecessary-when Mother heard what was going on, she made sure that both Silivren and Tuilenn were kept so busy with sweeping and scraping vegetables and ironing of the Rangers' laundry they'd washed the day before that they hadn't the time to even lift their eyes until Ranger Hethlin came back into the house, toweling his hair and looking very refreshed.

Ranger Lorend had donned his clean shirt and buffed up his boots as best he could, but as he said, it was hardly a dress uniform. He started out to the barn to saddle his horse at noon-only to encounter Tuilenn pelting back to the house in a state of extreme excitement.

"Bessie! Bessie is having her baby!" she shouted as she ran towards the house. "Come see!"

We all went out to the barn, and indeed, Bessie was moving restlessly about her stall and groaning. A single foot protruded from beneath her tail.

"Aren't there supposed to be two of those?" Lieutenant Mablung inquired, pointing to the foot.

"Yes," said Lorend tersely. He looked almost pleadingly at his superior officer. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

The Lieutenant shook his head. "Sorry, lad. I'm not a bad hand with a needle and a knife, but I don't do midwifery for man nor beast." He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Go on, Lorend. Go to your family while you've got the chance. We'll deal with this as best we may."

Lorend looked at the heifer. "She'll probably die if someone doesn't deal with that." he sighed in disgust. "I can't ride off knowing that's happening."

"Is something wrong with Bessie and her baby?" Tuilenn quavered. The heifer was the closest thing to a pet she possessed. As if on cue, Bessie groaned again. Tuilenn broke into tears. Even Silivren, who was not particularly attached to the young cow, looked worried, as did Mother. Affection aside, the loss of Bessie and her calf would be a great financial blow to our family, even though we could butcher her and save the meat if she died.

Ranger Lorend started cursing suddenly, curses of a most astonishing variety and vehemence, and began stripping his cloak and tunic and shirt off. The girls stared at him, frightened, and Mother looked shocked.

"Lorend!" the lieutenant said with a frown. "Have a care for the ladies' ears!"

The cursing stopped. "Idren, I need a bucket of hot water, and some soap and a piece of cord that's been soaked in boiling water," he snarled, "and I need them now! Lieutenant, you need to hold her head for me. Heth, take the ladies back to the house-they can't help and they won't want to watch this. You help them with the food."

"Are you sure you don't need my help?" the youngest Ranger asked. He did not look enthused at the prospect of becoming an assistant cook. Lorend grinned rather nastily.

"Sure. Why don't you just peel off that shirt and jump right in here with us?"

"Lorend!" Lieutenant Mablung chided a second time in as many minutes. Hethlin took the hint and fled. Lorend looked at me.

"Water. Soap. Cord. Now." I scampered as well, but as I left, I heard a heartfelt cry rise towards the roof of the barn.

"_I HATE COWS!_"

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Over the next hour, I watched the clever Ranger fight to save Bessie and her calf. It was a messy business. Certainly I had seen animals born before, but never had I imagined having to get so… close to the process. Lorend had stripped to the waist, and bound his hair back with a thong. Then he had washed his arm thoroughly, and taking the protruding hoof, pushed it back into Bessie.

"Why are you putting it back in there?" I asked cautiously, well aware that the Ranger's mood was not the best. "Doesn't it have to come out anyway?"

"Hind foot," was Lorend's terse reply. "Can't come out that way." His arm still within Bessie, he then began the laborious task of turning the calf within its mother. He had to fight against Bessie's own efforts to expel the calf, and it was hard, strenuous work. She was not very helpful and came in for her share of cursing, though Lieutenant Mablung did his best to keep her still so Lorend could work. He soon became streaked with blood and worse things, the pale skin of his torso and arms pebbled with goose bumps in the chilly air.

"Is it alive?" I asked him after about half an hour, when it seemed little progress was being made.

"Yes," he panted. "It just moved. Don't know if it will last, though. I need to hurry this up."

Finally, he got the calf's front feet lined up and looped the cord around the lower jaw to help guide the head. Bessie was exhausted by this time and not able to help much, so the young Ranger ended up having to pull the calf himself. It slid free in a gush of still more bloody fluid, but Lorend seemed past caring. He undid the cord about the calf's jaw and tied it about the navel cord close to the belly, then took the knife the lieutenant handed him and cut it. "Sacks, Idren," he commanded, and I presented him with a couple of old flour sacks he'd asked for earlier. He commenced giving the calf a vigorous rub-down.

I thought for a moment that it must be dead. Then it started wriggling in protest at the stimulation, and a feeble bleating noise came from it.

"It's alive!" I exclaimed.

"For now," Lorend said forbiddingly. Then, in a somewhat more cheerful tone, "It is a cow calf."

Bessie, hearing the noise, lowed softly herself. The Ranger lifted the calf and carried it to her head, whereupon the new mother sniffed the strange intruder curiously for a moment, then began to lave it with her large, pink tongue.

"There's a good girl," Lorend commended her, the first favorable thing he'd said about Bessie in a while. He seemed pleased as he admired his handiwork, but he was also shivering, and Lieutenant Mablung noticed this with some concern.

"Idren, go back to the house and ask them to heat up some more water for Lorend. He needs to get washed up and warm again." I ran back to the house, only to find that Hethlin and Silivren and my mother already had the large cauldron on the boil. Hethlin started filling the bath with the cold water first, then, when Lorend started around the back of the house, the four of us all poured the hot water in.

He settled into his second bath of the day gratefully, and stayed there for a while, using a great deal of soap. Mother kept bringing him pots of hot water, and Hethlin brought him a clean change of clothes. The girls went down to the barn to exclaim over the new calf. Eventually he came into the house, dressed but damp-headed, to sit by the fire and comb his hair dry. Mother brought him a cup of hot tea, and he sniffed the odors of cooking food appreciatively.

"Thank you for your help, Ranger. Will the cow and calf be all right?" she asked.

Lorend shrugged. "I do not know, mistress. Bessie might still get womb fever or milk fever or any number of things. And it's not a good time of year for calving. I wish my mother were here-she has tonics she gives her cows to discourage such things."

"But Bessie would have died had you not done what you did?"

He nodded, and sipped his tea.

"Then we are very grateful. Are you going to go on to your own family tonight?"

"No. It's a five hour journey from here. They'd be well started into things already if I left right now, and I'd better finish getting dry first." The young ranger's expression was morose and Mother looked at him apologetically.

"I am very sorry we ruined your holiday, Ranger Lorend."

Another shrug. "You didn't ruin it. I got to see them yesterday, after all. I told them then I might not be able to make it there. Do not worry about it-I will be glad to spend the holiday with you. It will be a great deal nicer than what the rest of the Rangers are having in Ithilien."

Ranger Hethlin gave him a sympathetic look. Having lost his entire family, I suspected the youngest Ranger felt very badly for Lorend. But Lossarnach's one surviving Ranger was good-humored enough about how events had fallen out. Once his hair was dry, he set to helping us with the final preparations with a good will, and by nightfall, all was ready. The table was laid with our one festive cloth and I fancied I could almost hear it groan beneath the burden of food laid upon it. The mantel was decorated with cedar branches and greenery the girls and Ranger Hethlin had gone out to cut, and Mother's box and the three loaves nestled among them. The candles were ready for when they'd be needed.

We began the festivities with the presentation of gifts, for such had been the custom in our house when Father was alive. Mother and I had both been busy that fall, making things for the girls. Tuilinn was given a doll I had carved for her, and that Mother had dressed with scraps from the rag bag. I was proud of that doll, for it had jointed arms and legs, and that had been a tricky bit of carving for me. Silivren received one of Mother's old festival dresses that had been taken in for her. Mother had embroidered some flowers around the neck and sleeve edges. It was a deep red and would look very well with her dark hair. These gifts were well-received, Silivren hastening upstairs to change after hugging Mother, while Tuilinn squealed with joy, then threw her arms about my neck and kissed me.

"But where's your gift, Idren?" she asked after a moment, her face turning troubled.

"I'm a grown-up now and grown-ups don't usually get _Mettarë _gifts," I explained.

"May I see your doll, Tuilinn?" Lieutenant Mablung asked. Rather surprised, my sister nodded and handed it over. The oldest Ranger turned it over in his hands for a moment, examining it. Then he handed it back.

"That is nice work, Idren. I didn't know you liked wood carving."

"I used to have the time to do more, but I'm not all that good at it."

"A craftsman is only as good as his tools. Your knife is a bit big, I'll wager." And he went to where his saddlebags were stacked against the wall and pulled something out, which he brought back over to me and placed in my hands. It was a slender knife, a silver sliver, wood-hafted and in its own little leather sheath. "I have other blades back in Ithilien," the lieutenant said, "for I like to whittle every now and again to pass the time. You should be able to do more detail now."

"I wish I'd had it when I was carving the fingers," I said feelingly. "I threw away about a dozen arms. Thank you, sir."

The lieutenant smiled and nodded, then winked at Tuilinn. "Sometimes grown-ups get _Mettarë _presents as well, Tuilinn." Tuilinn grinned back at him.

We were just about to sit down to our feast when there came a sound of a wagon pulling up outside the house.

"Hello the house!" came a deep voice, and Lorend started.

"_Father_?" he exclaimed under his breath, and hurried to the door. The rest of us followed.

There indeed were Guildmaster Doron and Mistress Emlin in a wagon drawn by a fine dray horse.

"Father! Mother! Whatever are you doing here?" Lorend asked in astonishment. His mother smiled down at him.

"You had said you might not be able to come to us, so Doron and I decided to come to you, and leave Feredir to deal with the rest of the family. We figured that we'd either meet you on the way to us and escort you back home, or come out here to where you were. But either way, we wanted to spend _Mettarë _with you, Lorend. We didn't know when we'd get the chance to do it again." He reached up to give her an arm down out of the wagon, and when she was on the ground, she took him into her arms in a tight embrace. Master Doron came around the wagon and joined her, while the rest of us looked on, beaming. Hethlin actually sniffled, and the lieutenant patted his shoulder.

"We brought some things to add to the feast, if you will have us," the guild master said.

"But of course you are welcome!" my mother exclaimed. "Idren told me what a help you were to us today! Idren, help Master Doron with his horse."

"I'll have a look at your heifer, if you like," Mistress Emlin said. "I brought some of my tonic with me for when she calves."

"Excellent!" said Lorend. "You can go ahead and give it to her mother-she calved this afternoon. Just as I was going to leave, which is why I was still here. I had to turn the calf."

Emlin gave her son a knowing look. "Poor fellow! You've always hated cattle, for all that you're a good hand with them. I'm glad you didn't leave her to suffer. Come, let's go have a look at her." So Lorend and I set off for the barn with his parents, he to help his mother with Bessie and I to help his father bed the horse down. Our barn, I reflected, was beginning to look as full as the old days.

It took very little time to accomplish both tasks. Mistress Emlin dosed Bessie, then pronounced her and her new baby in good health. We returned gratefully to the warmth of the house. The guild master and his wife washed up, then presented their contributions to the feast-one of Mistress Emlin's famous cheeses, some wine, and some luscious looking honey cakes. They in turn were impressed with what was already upon the table.

"_Boar_? You've got _boar_? I'll wager even Lord Forlong himself might not have such a feast!" Master Doron exclaimed. As it turned out, boar was a particular favorite of his, and he wanted to hear the story of how it had come to us. Ranger Hethlin told the tale rather shyly, and the guild master chuckled when Arcag's part was explained.

"Pretty is as pretty does, it would seem, Ranger," he said, "though I must say that he must do very prettily indeed to overcome his ugly exterior." All of the horses had gotten apples earlier that afternoon as a _Mettarë _treat, the ones that were starting to bruise and soften. Silivren and Tuilenn had fed Speckle and the Rangers' other horses, while Hethlin cautiously fed his stud his reward, which included an extra apple I'd slipped him in gratitude for the boar-meat.

We sat down to eat, and everyone set to with great enthusiasm. Never in our lives, even when Father was alive, had we had such a feast! Boar and roast venison and stewed rabbit, root stew, new baked bread, apple tarts and honey cakes and cheese were all happily devoured, wine was drunk and cheerful talk drifted about the table. I, however, was worried about the important role that still lay before me. It was reassuring to know that the spark of the new fire would be kindled by a Ranger who did such tasks every day, but as head of the house, the words were mine to speak.

And eventually, that time came. The candles Lorend had purchased in the market were passed around to my family, and it turned out that Mistress Emlin had brought some extras, so that everyone present had a light. Ranger Hethlin doused the fire with a speed and dispatch that showed he'd done it in a hurry before. Dark closed in around us, and silence. There was no sound but a faint hiss from the fire and the noise of everyone's breathing. I could feel Lieutenant Mablung's presence beside me, and movement as he worked with his tinderbox. I cleared my throat, and spoke the words, the first of many times I would do this task as a man.

"This was the day which was shortest, and this is the night which is longest. But the stars shine upon us, and the year turns now. The darkness passes, and the light shall return."

Lieutenant Mablung slid his hand along my forearm and guided the wick of my candle to the smoldering tinder in his tinder-box. To my very great relief, it caught immediately, and the sweet scent of beeswax began to rise from it. Carefully, I tipped it to light Master Doron's candle upon my right hand, and my mother's upon my left. Light began to grow in the room, and once everyone had lit their candles, it was a veritable blaze, such as we'd never seen in our humble farmhouse. I looked about, at all who were with us, a bit of everything that made Gondor strong. The soldiers who defended it, the farmers who fed it, the craftspeople who made goods, and the merchants who ferried the goods between those who made them and those who needed them. We lacked only lords and in a way they were there too, for it was the Lord Faramir's care for his men which had brought us all together this night.

Cheerful talk rose once more as Hethlin and Mablung set to cleaning the remnants of the old fire from the fireplace and laying the new one. In very little time, a new blaze was burning upon the hearth, and there was other business to do. Mother took down the loaves from where they rested in a place of honor before her box on the mantle and looked to the two oldest men in the room.

Master Doron smiled. "How many years have you, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Two score and two," Mablung replied, puzzled.

"Then as I have seen more winters than you, this task falls to me. And I know the words in any event, and I doubt that you do." The two Rangers who were not from Lossarnach watched curiously as Mother handed Master Doron the loaves.

He held up the first loaf. "We honor the Trickster, he who is cunning of mind, who prospers by his wits and keeps his enemies at bay by cunning strategem. Give us wits and cunning in the coming year and the will to use them, that we might prosper as well." Theloaf was tossed into the fire and was consumed almost immediately. A scent of burnt bread and honey rose into the air.

The secondloaf was held aloft. "We honor the Hunter, he who goes unafraid into the darkling wood and brings back sustenance for his people. Give us patience and courage in the coming year, that we might persevere in the face of any adversity that befalls us." The secondloaf joined the first in the fire, and the third and lastloaf was held up.

"And we honor the Lord, he who with his justice and wisdom brings peace and order to both hearth and land. Give us wisdom and discernment, that we might deal straightly with our neighbors and they with us, that all might flourish." The thirdloaf made its last journey into flame, and we Lossarnach folk all raised a cheer, which startled Ranger Hethlin and Lieutenant Mablung.

Then the wine was passed around again, and we all had some more and things grew louder for a time, then very quiet, as the girls and Mother and Mistress Emlin finally all went off upstairs to sleep, and we men all bedded down in the downstairs room. For a time, there was a quiet whisper of sound near the hearth, as Lorend and his father spoke very softly to each other, but I could not hear what was said. And whether it was because of the wine or some other reason, I slept well and deeply that night and dreamed of my father. In my dream, he said nothing to me, but he was smiling and I thought he seemed pleased with me.


	4. Epilogue

The Rangers departed for Ithilien early the next morning, and a little later Master Doron and his wife left for their home. We gave them all our most grateful fare-wells, then settled back into a life with less excitement and worry, and a more reliable food supply.

Was it my mother's invocation of ancient powers that brought us succor that winter or something else? I've never been able to say for certain. But though Gondor itself still had some of its darkest days before it, our lives became much better after the three Rangers stayed with us that _Mettarë . _Bessie and her calf thrived, and with Speckle's help we were able to plow and plant all of our land. The harvest was good that year, and so were the prices. And Lord Forlong brought us the stipend, so that we were able to buy Speckle outright as well as the other animals we needed to make the farm a going concern once more.

But I suspect the Powers, if they did indeed send us aid, were a little confused. Though the winter observations are for the three faces of the God as the summer are for the Goddess, the Hunter they had chosen was a girl. We found out about that the following year, when the great battle for Minas Tirith finally happened. News of it slowly made its way back to us. Our beloved lord Forlong died on that field, and his son Forald succeeded him, a good lord if not so great in girth or personality as his sire. And there Hethlin the _Mûmak_-slayer gained fame for herself, as she stood over her fallen captain until the Prince of Dol Amroth could reach him.

Being a dutiful big brother, I twitted Silivren unmercifully when I heard the tale. "You were making a play for a _girl_! How do you expect to ever wed if you can't tell the difference?" Being a dutiful sister, she gave me no quarter in return.

"How do _you_ expect to wed, then? For you didn't know either!"

Lieutenant Mablung eventually got his captaincy, and went down to Poros, probably the most important military post in post-war Gondor. He took Lorend, now a lieutenant, with him. Hethlin's path lay in other directions, but we heard tales of her adventures over the years. The Hunter's legacy of courage in the face of darkness was certainly hers.

The summer after that special _Mettarë _, a man limped up the road to our farm. Eryngol, he said his name was, and he made his way upon a wooden peg-leg. It turned out that he was a former Ranger who had lost his lower leg to a orc sword-wound gone bad.

"Lieutenant Mablung said you might have need of a farm-hand," he'd said hesitantly. "There are things I can still do, even with but one leg. And I need naught but room and board."

It turned out that he was certainly as good as his word, a hard worker and a willing one. And it also turned out that he had another skill. He was a wood-worker of great ability. In the evenings he would carve spoons and other small objects, and teach me some of the tricks he knew. Those we would sell in Lossarnach when we went to market, and we kept the proceeds from the sales to save up and buy more tools.

Eryngol spent the first warm months in the barn, and the winter in the house with us, and by the following spring, Gondor's darkest, he and mother had decided to wed. We children had no reservations about the match, for he was kind to us and mother looked young and happy again and was singing once more. In time, we were joined by a baby brother and sister, and Eryngol had created an entire wood-working workshop in the barn, including a lathe. When Tuilinn wed a stout Lossarnach farm-boy, Eryngol and I gradually turned the running of the farm over to them, except for helping at planting and harvest, and concentrated on our wood-working and cabinetry business. We added onto the house over the years, and attached an actual wood-shop there eventually.

Our cabinetry was in great demand in those rebuilding years after the war. We made enough money to buy more acreage for the farm, and I had no trouble finding a fine Lossarnach girl willing to be my wife. I had eventually had that growth spurt Lord Forlong had predicted, though I never became a proper, stout figure of a Lossarnach man. But Maegwin doesn't seem to mind, bless her heart. We were careful of our business and we prospered. But Eryngol had one piece of work which he would never charge for. Any former soldier of Gondor who needed a leg or the base for a hook could get one from him for no charge whatsoever. And they were beautifully carved, as were his own peg-legs, which he eventually had a huge collection of, and used as an advertisement of sorts.

You will notice I've not spoken of Silivren's fate. I feel that it is her own story to tell. She blossomed into a beautiful maiden, dark of hair and eye like Mother, but with a bit more refined beauty from Father's Sea-lord blood. Lads from all over Lossarnach were falling over our doorstep in droves, wanting to court her, but she would have none of them. "I want a man with a _mind_!" she declared, tossing her head, and eventually she made her way to Minas Tirith as a lady's maid, and then to Emyn Arnen and finally down to Poros. I realized after a time that it was not so much a hunt for the appropriate man as a pursuit…

I did finally meet Captain Mablung again, years later, when he commissioned a dower bed for his first-born daughter. Or rather, when he came to pick it up, for our agent in Minas Tirith had sent us the commission. I had dropped all my other work to concentrate on the bed exclusively, with Eryngol's blessing; "You do it, Idren, for these days your carving is better than mine." And I did my very finest work on it, the same as if it had been for the King himself. Fruits and sheaves and vines covered it, and on the head and foot boards, stags galloped between farmland and forest, for a stag was the Captain's sigil. When it was done, and stained and polished, Eryngol and I spent some time just staring at it in appreciation.

"I've never seen a better, Idren, and that's the truth. It's a masterwork," he said.

As for Captain Mablung, when he arrived to pick it up and first laid eyes upon it, he was simply speechless for a time, eyes wide as he walked round and round the bed. "Well, Idren, I think you've moved well beyond whittling," he said at last huskily. "'Tis beautiful! But I did not pay you enough for this."

"You paid all the money Eryngol or I will take, Captain," I said firmly, "and we'll do the same for any other daughters you have, or any other work you want done."

"You sent me to a place where I could find happiness once more, sir," said Eryngol. Shafts of afternoon sunlight glowed upon the carvings of the bed, on the suspicious shine on Eryngol's cheeks, on the Captain's hair, now almost entirely white. The next moment, we were all embracing, and the Captain's errand ended up being delayed by a day, for we went into the house and spent the afternoon reminiscing and drinking ale, till he wasn't safe to drive and had to spend the night with us.

And now that I'm a guildsman myself, and wise with many more years, I've never found a piece of advice better than what Ranger Lorend gave me years ago-that if you could not repay a kindness done to you at the time it was done, then you should endeavor to pass it on to another at some point in the future. For only in this way will the amount of kindness in the world grow and flourish. So it is known in Lossarnach that on _Mettarë , _if you are in sore need or want, no matter your estate, you may come to my door and find fire and song and food within. And perhaps hope as well, for as the Sea-lords of old knew and the folk of the Gondor of our day realize as well, all darkness passes, and the light does return.

And Maegwin bakes three loaves of the finest flour and we burn them for the old Lords every year as well. For you never know from which direction your help might come…


End file.
